


Someday We'll Look Back on This and It Will All Seem Funny

by gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)



Category: Flashpoint
Genre: Drinking & Talking, Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Military Backstory, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2008, recipient:Sage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-18
Updated: 2009-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:49:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyneth/pseuds/gwyneth%20rhys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed and Greg have a past to look back on and a future to look forward to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someday We'll Look Back on This and It Will All Seem Funny

As he made his way through the apartment, Ed Lane kicked clothing, shoes, a number of CD jewel cases, and a few other things that Greg Parker couldn't quite identify from his vantage point on the bed out of the way. "Jeeeesus," Ed brayed. "How the hell do you live like this? This is the worst I've ever seen it. I can't even see the floor now."

"You know I've always preferred vertical organization methods," Greg answered mildly.

Ed waved a hand in the air. The fact that he was wearing only boxer briefs made it somehow look more ridiculous than he probably realized. "Piles would be an improvement. It's more like post-nuclear in here. If one of the crime scene guys came in they'd be searching for a body." He disappeared around the corner and Greg could hear him rummaging around in the refrigerator.

"Your food's going bad again. Among the many things that are wrong in here."

"It's the cleaning lady's week off," Greg shouted. The dim sound of a snort followed, and then Ed brought back a beer and a soda. He pulled his black T-shirt on, followed by his jeans. This was just Ed's way, and Greg let him have that. Ed was great with the big stuff, but sometimes got undone by the small stuff.

"Didn't that week off start, like, I don't know, seven years ago?"

"Complain, complain, complain." But he appreciated the way Ed complained. It was... entertaining. Ed had never before brought up these divorced-dad ugly apartments that Greg had lived in the past few years in his attempt to find someplace that felt like a home in the wake of losing his family. Though that hadn't happened, Greg made valiant attempts nonetheless. Anyone who'd taken a Psych 101 class would know that's why he let each place become such a sty. Something else other than Greg's lack of order was working Ed's last nerve.

"It's pathetic, Greg. You gotta find a real place to live. Take care of your environment. You're the one who's always on my ass about home being the most important part of your life."

"Yeah, well, do as I say, not as I do."

Ed sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks, and then took a few drinks from his beer. "How much do you think it will change?"

Greg reeled a bit from mental whiplash with that question. "I don't think it has to change. At least, not now. It's going to be new for a while. Early days yet." He didn't know what else to say. This thing they had, whatever they could call it even though they had never really called it anything, was theirs, private, shared. Of course it violated codes, ethics, and any number of other things. If either of them thought they should feel guilty or ashamed, they never said it aloud, attempting to deal with it on their own terms. And Greg couldn't envision life without Ed in it this way, just because of a promotion. It made his palms feel sweaty even thinking of it.

Besides, Greg's promotion to sergeant would give Ed so much ammo for so many years of taunting, and he couldn't deny the man that.

"Just don't make me regret my behind-the-scenes machinations. I'm sure it was my shining recommendation that got this for you."

"That, or the fact that I'm the most exceptional member of the SRU and everyone recognizes my superior leadership qualities."

Greg slipped the sheets off and dressed. He surveyed the wreckage he called an apartment and thought that he really should clean it up once in a while for Ed's sake. These days, they were almost like an old married couple; there was passion, absolutely, but that wasn't the thing that kept them tight. Even though they weren't together that often outside work, this was the one place they could be alone, away from all other obligations. It wasn't just his own space, and he needed to remember that. He had that career-military-man-career-cop need for precision and order, which was a large part of what made him such a great team leader. The first time Ed had visited him, in the earliest days of their friendship, he'd scanned the room and remarked with a slightly awed voice, "How exactly does someone so organized at work live like this?"

Greg put his hand on the back of Ed's neck. "You heading home, or hanging around?"

Ed turned back to him. "Yeah, yeah, I can hang for a while." The times they went to a Leafs game was something they liked to last, at least through the night. Sophie had never had high expectations for Ed's timeliness and homebodiness to begin with, but a hockey game was particularly sacred guy time. It wasn't unusual for Ed to call her at three a.m. that he wasn't getting home till the next day. Those were the times Greg wondered if she had gleaned that there was more to their friendship than hockey and work and drinks at the local cop bar, but she never showed her hand, if that was the case. That had always been the hardest part of this, knowing there was a family, one he loved like his own, on the other side, but it was all too true that the heart wants what it wants.

They went out to the TV and found more hockey to watch on cable. Ed had been decidedly unchatty earlier that night, more so than usual. Greg watched him for a while, that great blade-like face of Ed's in profile against the light from the kitchen, the telltale sign of worry in the ever-so-slight drawing down of his brows.

"It's not like I'm going to sexually harass you," Greg finally said, hoping to jar Eddie into speaking up.

"I was worried about that. Trying to remember who I'd need to talk to in human resources."

"What's on your mind, then, Eddie? I won't use my newfound powers for evil instead of good. And I won't be the final judge. I plan to pretty much follow Danny's rulebook."

"Aw, it's just something to take in. Changes, you know? " He paused for a moment, wearing that faraway look Greg knew so well. Ed was usually action guy, a man who needed to do rather than talk. He was a perfectly good negotiator, a strategist even, but he would rather move, any day. When he was chewing on something for a long time, Greg noticed. "I'd miss this," Ed said eventually.

Greg raised his bottle in a toast, and Ed followed suit. "You won't have to."

"Everything's gotta change, someday. I just don't know when I'd be ready to change this." For a guy like Ed, that was a hell of a lot to admit.

And Greg got that. He'd had enough of changes forced upon him by circumstances in the recent past, and he was possibly even more desperate to hang on to this one thing than Ed was.

"This isn't a 'someday we'll look back on this' situation. Hand to God, Eddie, we're nowhere near the looking back stage."

"No sir."

"Please don't call me that."

"Sure, boss."

"I'm going to lose this one, aren't I?" Greg asked plaintively.

"Might as well get used to it now." Ed grinned. "What _do_ you like?"

"Long walks on the beach, jazz music, honesty, curling up in front of the fire on a cold winter's night."

"For a title, asshole."

"Anything except asshole will do."

"I'll make a note of it." Ed knelt up on the couch and leaned over Greg, mischief in his eyes, acting as though he might spill the beer on him, and singing, "Someday we'll look back on this--"

"And it will all seem funny," Greg joined in. Had it really been that long since Ed had told him the story of where that line came from? That night had changed everything between them, and it seemed like it was years ago and just the other day at the same time.

Ed moved in on him, and Greg halfheartedly tried to push him away. "Geez, give me some rest. I'm a middle-aged man." Ed ignored him completely.

* * *

 

"What's your 20?" Greg asked over the comm, making notes on the command-post whiteboard. "No eyes right now, Eddie." Five hours and counting now since their subject had first refused contact after barricaded himself inside a top floor apartment. They'd earlier discovered the subject had thrown gasoline around the apartment and was threatening to light it up if they took action, and the building was old enough that there was no central sprinkler system. Explosive entry was their only option, but it had to be a very nonexplosive explosive entry.

Greg and Ed were still getting used to each other's operating styles, learning to mesh them, to reach that familiarity the best team members had with each other. This call almost felt like some sort of final test, which they were so far passing with ease.

"Almost there," came Ed's reply, and then Greg saw him and Andy emerge at the edge of the roof, their rappel lines taut.

Danny reminded them quietly, "Make this as clean as possible, boys."

"Copy that," came Ed's calm reply. The rest of the team was poised at the edges of the outside landing. No one could risk firing weapons here, which left them few options, most of which would be on Ed and Andy's shoulders. Firefighters flanked on either side, shielded by the rest of the team.

"How we looking?" Danny asked, trying not to betray the anxiety they all felt.

"We're a go," Andy answered. "On my mark."

This was always the worst part for Greg, watching the action take place, seeing his friends in peril because negotiation had not been possible. He kept his binoculars trained on Ed as the two hit the window, broke through, and then focused on his voice as they shouted through the chaos. He had a calm but strong, tough voice even through the worst of situations, and it affected everyone around them -- gave them confidence, helped them keep their shit together. They needed that now as the words spilled through the lines: the worst that could happen, the unimaginable, and still Eddie kept calm, grabbing the oldest boy, whose clothing had caught fire, smothering flames and rushing him out of there. The rest of the team was on it, too, getting the younger boy, taking down the father, but Greg's attention was all on Eddie.

These were the times Greg felt he was living someone else's life, as if he were watching it unfold through another's eyes. He felt nothing, experienced it with no emotional connection to anything or anyone. And people wondered why he drank.

He watched as the EMTs took the boys away, stood by as they brought the father, cuffed and hands behind his head, down the stairs. The training kicked back in and Greg rushed to take charge, start the process of getting it all together, trying to make sense of the senseless and put it on paper. The acrid smell of gasoline hung around them, other odors Greg didn't want to think about. And in the center of it all was Eddie.

The boy would be fine, they said. He had escaped serious harm because the father had only dropped the lighter seconds after they'd come through the picture window, which gave Ed enough time to get hold of him before flames spread. He had burns, but nothing that wouldn't heal. Greg carried the news over to Ed and Danny and Andy, still going over details with command; always there were the details and the brass who wanted to know them.

"You did a good job, fellas," Greg said, and patted first Ed's shoulder, then Andy's. Andy had that look in his eyes, the one Greg saw on people who tended to leave the job earlier rather than later. "He's gonna be okay, thanks to you. It could have been a lot worse." Physically, anyway. Greg couldn't begin to imagine what a fucked-up life you'd have knowing your own father would set you and your brother on fire rather than let you live your mother. "From the sound of it, he wasn't specifically targeting the boys, just hoping they would all go out together."

"I don't know if that's worse or better," Andy said dryly.

Danny looked down at his boots. "Not our call to make. Let's close this up."

As he was climbing into the truck, Greg noticed Ed sitting on the hood of a car, staring up at the crime scene emblazoned with yellow tape.

He didn't turn to Greg when he heard him approach, but said quietly, "Thank you."

"For what?" Greg asked. "I didn't do anything."

"Yeah, you did." Normally Greg would make some kind of joke about Ed's state of mind, but the way Ed turned to look at him was far too serious and weighted.

"You want to talk about it?" Greg asked, and leaned against the front driver's side door. There was something shifting here in their new friendship, something he couldn't define except to understand that it was a little bit scary.

"Someday we'll look back on this and it will all seem funny." There was no funny in Ed's voice.

"I'm sorry?"

Ed looked up at the fading sky, where the stars were beginning to come out, even on a day like this, with low cloud cover and that bone-biting chill that signaled winter was coming.

"How about a drink? Or maybe ten. I can tell you all about it."

Ed had many times made fun of Greg's predilection for talk and negotiation; it was unexpected to hear him consider chatting part of the wind-down process, because he had never seemed like a talker before. Suddenly this felt like the most important thing in the world.

"Yeah, but make a call first." He made a phone motion. There were times Greg worried that Ed was heading down the same path he himself had already traveled, and that it might not be long before an exasperated Sophie took Clark and left. Greg didn't know enough yet to really understand the details of Ed and Sophie's relationship, but much of it seemed awfully familiar -- the over-dedication to the job, the extreme compartmentalization to the point of shutting others out, the cynicism and drinking as coping mechanisms.

They went to a pub near Greg's new flat, and Ed was kind enough not to bring the trial separation up when he saw that this neighborhood was nowhere near where Greg had lived before. It took a full pint and half of a second before Ed finally talked.

"I was stationed in Croatia in the Forces, you know. Peacekeeping. What a fucking joke. That place was so fucked up that all you could really do was focus on yourself, your team. I knew this one guy, a shooter like me, he was a Springsteen fanatic. Dan Macready, we called him Mac. He was the funniest kid, he was really sharp and skilled and a soldier's soldier, you know the type?"

Greg nodded. Ed would have been at a crossroads age right about then -- something of an older brother and a mentor to the younger soldiers, but still young enough to think he could make a difference in a place like that. And more of a soldier's soldier than he would ever be aware of.

"But he was also a complete nerd. I taught him guitar, we even scrounged this beat-to-shit old Gibson. God, we couldn't even tune the damn thing. I taught him some of his favorites, 'Born to Run,' 'Thunder Road,' all that. Made him learn a few other things, too, because he needed a well-rounded education, I figured. We didn't have down time, not then. Guys coming back to camp sometimes looked worse than the refugees."

Greg was aware that Ed had left the Forces immediately after his time in Yugoslavia. Like so many trained in special ops, he joined the police force right after, one of the few places those were considered transferable skills. Greg wasn't even certain how many of their own current SRUers were ex-military, but he'd wager it was many. Some guys took the path of private contractors and security after the service, but Ed was not the mercenary type. The Dudley Do-Right streak was unmistakable.

"That was where I learned the finer details of being a shooter. It wasn't hard to learn the math of it all. But you had to live in a place like that to get a handle on how to really use your skills to keep your team alive. There were days where all you could do was make sick, sick jokes to keep yourself laughing, because otherwise you'd just break down. Mac always had this line from a song, it was his response to almost everything: 'Someday we'll look back on this and it will all seem funny.' From 'Rosalita,' you know?"

Greg hadn't the first clue about that category of the rock 'n' roll shelf, but he nodded anyway. Ed must have caught his look because he laughed and said derisively, "Oh, I forgot, jazz guy, right?"

"Hey, I listened to my share of hair bands back in the day and made out in the car to all the arena anthem love ballads. It just wasn't anything that stuck with me after I discovered the wonder that was Charles Mingus."

"Uh-huh," Ed commented and waved the waitress over for another round.

Greg gave him his cheeriest grin and nodded his head to get Ed to continue his story.

"Yeah, so. Mac used to say that all the freakin' time. No matter how awful the situation -- I mean, we're talking about a place with mass graves, people being blown up on a daily basis by land mines, destruction like you can't even imagine -- he'd pop off with that. One day I told him to cut it out, that I just couldn't take it anymore. Because there was nothing about this we'd look back on and find funny."

"I take it he didn't respond all that well?"

"Nah, nah, he was good-natured about it, he got all apologetic. He said he didn't think anything would be funny, either. I got the impression that he meant something different, though. I think he wanted to explain, but didn't want to piss me off any more."

"But that wasn't the last time you heard it, either."

"We kind of took this one kid and his family in. Unofficial mascot in a way. Aleksander, he was about seven, I think. They were ethnic Serbs and that was a very dangerous thing to be. Even though we were often existing on half-rations, we helped them out when we could. Aleksander loved the UNPROFOR guys, he knew the different country flags and their sectors."

Of course he did, Greg thought. Those guys would be saints to the civilians who were being murdered over there. Even after being exposed to all the news and the photos, Greg still hadn't the first clue about what it was truly like to be in a place where militias targeted civilians. PTSD was the parting gift the vast majority of them brought home, even though he didn't think that had been Ed's experience. One of the first things Greg had noticed about Ed was how carefully contained the different aspects of his life were. It was as though Ed wrapped things up tidily in a box, put that inside another box, tucked it into a cubbyhole, and put a lid over all of it.

"Once, a bunch of us brought them some food; I think it was around Thanksgiving time and we had extra." He ran his hand over his head a couple times, a gesture that Greg had noticed he brought out in two situations: one was when he was embarrassed, and the other when he was trying to give himself time to rein in his emotions. "A popular trick over there was to set fires between the houses. Sometimes they would rig small explosives to trip lines at the exits. Or shoot everyone as they ran out from the fire. We got there right after fires had started ripping through the homes in that block. We weren't totally prepared."

"Let me guess... Mac to the rescue? And he tripped a line?" Greg asked quietly. These were the times he hated the guy code -- not being able to reach over and put a comforting hand on a friend's arm, pat their hand, whatever you could do to make them feel like it was okay.

Ed nodded sadly.

"And then he tried to be the soldier laughing in the face of death with his comrades gathered around him," Greg said evenly.

"Yeah, kind of. He was lucky. They didn't put a whole lot of effort into those, I think their preferred method was just to shoot as many people as they could. Bullets were cheaper and easier than explosives. So. He lost a lot of his left hand, most of his leg on that side. Some burns. We were putting him in the Medevac and I said, 'Tell me you're not thinking that someday this will all seem funny.' And he squeezed my fist and said, 'It'll be funny if we can just live long enough to be able to look back.' I thought he was bat-shit crazy at the time. I didn't know what that was supposed to mean. But it stuck with me."

Greg sat back and drained his beer. It was times like this he wondered why he had even considered cutting down on his drinking, because a nice bottle of Scotch would be welcome right about now. But he was trying to change things with Cheryl, trying to ensure that his responsibilities as a negotiator remained his responsibilities and they didn't frog-march him out the door one day for messing up. "Today you finally felt like you knew what he meant."

"Yeah, I think I did. We try to let this shit go, try to stay dispassionate so we don't go nuts. We tried that in the Balkans but it never really worked, you'd still meet a kid like Aleksander or see a bunch of bodies just lying there. You can _never_ really do that. Mac wasn't talking about looking back at those things and seeing it as, like, funny ha ha. He was saying, we're laughing in the face of it, we're staying sane and remembering what it was like being on a frozen, wet hillside with our eyes pressed to a scope, starving, aching, and someday we'll go, 'Jesus Christ, do you remember how awful that was?' Funny ironic, maybe. Funny fucking amazing. Remembering your comrades and the innocent little kids you met. Knowing that it was some part of your life, but your life's different now."

Greg said, "You know, there was this study done by a psychologist who's an expert in memory. She interviewed these people who'd had disastrous vacations, where every possible thing that could go wrong did. Or a major event, like an accident or a health problem. Most of them would retell their experience later with the emphasis on the good stuff. They'd either gloss over or just ignore the bad stuff entirely. They'd laugh in that kind of distant way -- 'Oh, yeah, John had that unfortunate heart attack in Italy, ha ha.' It's a coping mechanism; it's a way people have of controlling their memories so their memories fit in with their optimistic worldview. "

"People are also known to be kind of stupid," Ed said. He smiled, raising his beer. The waitress came by and dropped the bill on the table, and Greg realized how late it was getting. He picked it up, but had to hold it at arm's length to read it. Ed snorted and grabbed it away from him.

"They are, indeed," Greg said. "But they're also pretty resilient. Anyway, that's not even the best part."

"Wait, there's more?" Ed asked, smiling.

"There _is_ more!" Greg responded. "The best part was the conclusion they came to. See, it was the pessimists and the cranks who always expect the worst out of things who remembered their vacations accurately. The optimistic ones had a completely unrealistic memory of the events. Think about it -- we're the sane ones in this world. The shiny happy people, they're kinda nuts."

"That's good. I can work with that," Ed said. "Next time someone bitches about me being so negative, I'll just tell them that studies show I'm saner than they are."

"I think that's what your friend Mac was getting at. I can't speak for Mr. Springsteen, but I bet Mac was using that idea to cope -- that he could look forward to a day when he wouldn't want to puke thinking about that time. He saw things accurately, but he wasn't going to let that kill his spirit." Greg looked at him, hard. "What I'm curious about, though, is what was it about today that made the connection?" There was a constant underlying fear the brass had about the SRU tactical teams -- that they would, when provided with just the right catalyst, lose their nut and either top themselves or take someone else out. Not that Greg believed Eddie had reached that point, but he was still curious.

"The little boy today. He was about Aleksander's age. It just... it was crazy, chaotic. But he came right to me. Ran right into my arms. His dad splashed almost an entire can of gas around that place, and yet the fire barely touched him because he ran right into my arms. Away from his dad, and to me."

"Funny weird. Funny fucking amazing."

Running his hand over his head, Ed said, "Yeah. I'm not one of those guys who's ever gonna remember his fucked-up vacation fondly, but it's all I got. Because if I don't find that one thing, I can't understand it otherwise. Why someone would do that to their own kid."

Greg pulled off bits of the paper coaster and tried to figure out some kind of answer. "There have been times, since I started this, that I didn't think I could keep doing it. Because of just this kind of thing. And that struggle, it's a lot of what's gone wrong with me and Cheryl. I've learned to try to make sense of it by thinking of it as my place in the world. That everything must have led me for a reason. I may not be able to help everyone, every day, but I'm supposed to be here."

Ed fixed him with a very serious look, yet there was still the familiar spark of knowing in his blue eyes. Even in the dim light of the bar, the clarity of those eyes shone through, leaving him feeling grounded, understood. "You do a damn good job, Greg," Ed said. "I think you're supposed to be here for a lot more people than just those on the job."

"I don't want to be looking back. Funny or not, you know? Just looking forward." He wanted Ed to understand that, in the way that Ed seemed to understand so many other things about him.

"I was thinking the same thing. Kind of interesting, how you and I are always on the same wavelength." What Greg had felt earlier he could sense around them again, a change in the atmosphere, the calm way Eddie looked at him, the tightness in his chest and the way breathing just felt harder right now.

Ed got up to pay the tab, and as he put his wallet away and turned toward him, tilting his head in the direction of the door, Greg saw something else in his eyes then, something he lacked a concept for. A question or an answer, he wasn't certain, but maybe also an offer to come find out which one.

So Greg did. They went back to his shabby apartment and there were questions, and answers, in such previously unknown pleasures as a kiss, the feel of Ed's skin against his own, the strange new experience of touching another man. Eddie didn't clutter it up with words, for which Greg was grateful because it left him to discover his own questions and answers.

Was there a manly man equivalent for such a girly phrase as soul mate? Greg wondered afterward, floating in that half-waking, half-sleeping space, waiting to see if either of them had anything significant to say -- and of course, if they would actually say it. Wondering, too, if they would both see something good and right in this later, or only embarrassment and awkwardness. But then Ed settled next to him in the too-small-for-two-grown-men bed and Greg let it go, falling down into sleep with the weight of Ed's hand on his shoulder.

* * *

Ed's hand was on his shoulder, shaking and shaking. "Boss. Wake up, boss man." Finally Greg snapped his eyes open.

"Tolyounottacallmthat," Greg managed to mumble before he realized where he was, and lifted his head. He'd been half dreaming, half remembering the first time with Ed.

"Might as well get used it to it, Sarge." He'd expected Ed to enjoy taunting him, but maybe not quite so soon. Greg hadn't had a chance to settle in before he was granted a daily helping of mockery and taunting, especially about his age requiring him to become a desk jockey.

Greg felt a trickle of drool at his lip and there was something... strange...

"Oh, geez, is that a paper clip stuck to my forehead?"

Ed laughed. "Nah, just an imprint from where you fell asleep on one. It's very fetching."

Stretching, Greg asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing. We just got done with all our reports, but what's your excuse?"

Greg gestured expansively. "This isn't just a _lot_ of paperwork for the new job. It's an Everest-sized mountain of paperwork. I had no idea when I accepted this promotion that there would be oxygen tanks involved."

"You know, they say that K2 is actually higher than Everest, so maybe I don't feel quite as impressed as I would otherwise." Ed perched his ass on the edge of the desk.

Making his best sour face, Greg said, "Actually, that was disproved fairly recently. Everest is still taller by a couple hundred meters."

"Don't you ever get tired of getting all Mr. Peabody on everyone's ass?" Ed asked, sighing.

"It's my burden."

He put on his new reading glasses -- yet another indignity of the new job, when he found out he could no longer read the tiny type on some of the procedural forms -- and began sorting through applications. Ed pushed his fingers hard onto his lips, trying not to laugh about the glasses, so Greg glowered at him. That accomplished precisely nothing and Ed finally let loose a big, hoarse guffaw. Normally that was a sound Greg loved, but not right now. He made a stabbing motion with his pen in the direction of Ed's crotch.

"We've got my spot to fill on One, and there are still empty spots in Four and Two. We have a lot of good applications that I have to go through and give my thoughts to brass. One in particular looks really good for us, a girl from --"

"Young lady."

"--_woman_ from out in the hinterlands. Medicine Hat. Where women know how to shoot, no doubt."

"I like the hinterlands."

"Me, too," Greg said, and made shooing motions at Ed. "Now go home. Did you let Soph know you're running late?"

"Sometimes it seems like you worry more about my marriage than I do." There was no judgment in that statement; there never was.

"Well, somebody's gotta do it. Just think, if you keep going this way, a future like mine awaits you."

Ed shuddered. As much fun as they made of Greg's life, he hoped that his experience was at least a bit of a cautionary tale for Ed. They had something important together, but Greg most definitely didn't want that to draw Ed further away from his family -- especially if he became estranged from his son. It was a hard line to walk, full of mixed-up feelings about love and need and selfishness. Ed might not be the man Greg cared so much for without his family on the other end to support him. And Greg doubted much of their own relationship would have happened if Greg's family hadn't left him.

After a moment of staring at Greg, Ed finally got up and moved toward the door. Greg wanted very much to leave right now with Ed, but it just wasn't meant to be tonight. He had the distinct feeling that being team sergeant would mean a lot of this from now on.

"So, what do you think, Eddie? Has it changed? For better, or for worse?" Greg asked.

Ed stopped with his back to Greg, then turned around and leaned, very attractively, against the jamb. "You know, I think it's just fine. Assuming I ever get you away from that paperwork in the future. "

Greg dropped his eyes back down to the papers on the desk. "That's good," he said, trying fight off a very large, self-satisfied grin. "That's excellent." He didn't really want to have much looking back at all with Ed. Just looking forward.

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